


The Longest Dark

by IgnorantArmies



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Christmas/Solstice Fluff, Gen, Minor Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnorantArmies/pseuds/IgnorantArmies
Summary: Din remembers a seasonal celebration from childhood...For the most part, knowing the date was largely irrelevant unless he had a rendezvous or a deadline for a bounty. Mandalorians had no fixed festivals or events that relied on cycles, given their nomadic nature. He usually made note of the anniversary of his taking the creed, but that was a private affair—a quiet contemplation in memory of his parents—and certainly couldn’t be called a celebration. But today… he couldn’t help feel a tiny flicker of something in his stomach when he saw the date.It was stupid, really. Thirty odd years since he’d even set foot on his home planet. There weren’t even any seasons in space, for kriff’s sake. No light except the glow of a passing planet and the after-echoes of a billion, trillion, dead stars, still shining in the darkness.But despite all that, the truth remained, it was midwinter on Aq Vetina.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 11
Kudos: 92





	The Longest Dark

He did the math without really thinking. His navi-computer was programmed to sync with the Galactic Standard Calendar, based on the Coruscant solar system, but a little conversion in his head and suddenly the date, and its significance, was embedded in his thoughts.

He tried to shake it off. Nostalgia served very little purpose except to distract you from the present, and besides, there was no one to share it with, so what did it matter?

Time was always strange in space, anyway. Regular journeys through hyperspace and planet hopping played havoc with any kind of internal clock he might have had, and in his line of work it hardly mattered if he brought his bounty in during the daytime or the night. Warm or cold, light or dark, he still got paid.

The addition of a tiny green child who had no consistent nap schedule and an uncanny ability to stay awake far longer than should be possible for a creature of his size had also had a somewhat detrimental effect on his own sleep patterns.

For the most part, knowing the date was largely irrelevant unless he had a rendezvous or a deadline for a bounty. Mandalorians had no fixed festivals or events that relied on cycles, given their nomadic nature. He usually made note of the anniversary of his taking the creed, but that was a private affair—a quiet contemplation in memory of his parents—and certainly couldn’t be called a celebration. But today… he couldn’t help feel a tiny flicker of something in his stomach when he saw the date.

It was stupid, really. Thirty odd years since he’d even set foot on his home planet. There weren’t even any _seasons_ in space, for kriff’s sake. No light except the glow of a passing planet and the after-echoes of a billion, trillion, dead stars, still shining in the darkness.

But despite all that, the truth remained, it was midwinter on Aq Vetina. And he was a child again, listening to his mother tell him about the longest night, how it threatened to swallow them all up each year, but how they tempted the sun back with candles and prayers and offerings—his father’s sweet pastries, layered with nuts and honey; spiced wine, warming his belly and making his eyelids droop as he sat reading by the fire, desperate to stay up all night long like his parents; shiny coins, left on the doorstep for the night spirits to exchange for gifts—if he made sure not to peek outside, of course.

It was stupid. A child’s story. A meaningless carnival to appease the masses through the long dark of the winter. And it wasn’t even his planet any more. His home. He was a Mandalorian, a member of the Tribe. And every night was the longest damn night when you were floating somewhere on the outer rim with less than half a fuel tank left.

He huffed an irritated breath out of his vocoder and shut off the navi-computer display with a thump of his fist. The child made a little startled noise behind him and he turned with a sigh.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said in a warning tone. He’d tried to put the kid down in the bunk, tucked up in his makeshift hammock, but by the time he’d made it up to the cockpit the child had already started wailing. So then he’d sat and rocked the little green dictator for half an hour, watching patiently until his eyes drooped closed, but the moment the hammock stopped swinging, those eyelids sprang open once more. So _then_ the kid ended up on his lap, back in the pilot’s seat, chewing on his mythosaur pendant while the Mandalorian idly stroked one of his long green ears until eventually, _finally_ , he dropped off for good.

Or perhaps not. He’d shifted the kid to the passenger seat twenty minutes ago and all had been quiet since, but apparently not a whole load of sleeping had been going on. The kid had clearly been digging around in the emergency kit beneath the seat and was clutching a glow stick, mesmerised by the green light. 

“What are you doing with that?” the Mandalorian tutted, trying to pry it out of the kid’s hands, but the creature let out an outraged squeal and held on tight.

The Mandalorian slumped back in his seat. He was too tired to negotiate with a fifty-year-old toddler right now.

“Fine. Just… don’t eat it.” 

In answer, the unmistakable sound of chewing came from behind him.

“Dank ferrik…”

It was going to be a long night. The longest, in fact. Especially since he couldn’t get the kriffing date out of his head. He sighed again.

“Hey kid. You know what day it is?” he asked, without turning around.

He took the responding little meep as a ‘no’.

“It’s… Well. You can’t see it, but far away, maybe one of those stars out there, is a place called Aq Vetina. And tonight is a special night. The most important night of the year.”

He heard the rustling of fabric and a few moments later two little green hands latched onto his boot. He leaned down to pick the child up and settled him in the crook of his arm, facing the expanse beyond the cockpit.

The child was still holding the glow stick, illuminating its little face in an even brighter green, and reflecting in those glassy black eyes. The Mandalorian tapped the stick with a finger. “Tonight, we need lights, just like this, to keep the darkness at bay.”

The kid looked back at the glow stick with fresh awe and gave it a little wave.

“There’s a whole lotta darkness out there,” the Mandalorian said softly, “It’s cold, and it’s lonely, and it can swallow you up if you’re not careful.”

The little creature made an uncertain noise, looking from the Mandalorian to the viewport and back again, then offering up his glow stick so it shone against the Beskar of his helmet.

The Mandalorian smiled faintly beneath his helm. “One light might not be enough,” he said, an idea creeping into his head at the same time a warm feeling crept into his chest.

* * *

Turned out the Crest had a lot more glow sticks than he’d ever really considered. What with the emergency kits beneath the seats, a couple of old maintenance crates and his toolbox, the cockpit looked like a multi-coloured crystal cave by the time they were done.

The child was _delighted_ with the results of his non-nap, toddling from one light to the next and tapping each one gently as if he was carrying out some sort of blessing ceremony. The Mandalorian had continued his story as they decorated the place, trying his best to remember his mother’s words and making up the rest as closely as he could. The child was enraptured, taking the whole thing extremely seriously, and after a while the Mandalorian found it hard to talk around the lump in his throat, so they sat there, gazing up at the carapace of stars—the child in his lap, where he always seemed to sleep best anyway—until both of them began to drift off amidst the gentle rainbow glow of protective lights.

* * *

It was the darkness that woke him. The glow sticks lay dull and dim once more. and the cockpit had lost all its magic. But the night wasn’t over yet.

He left the child sleeping. Snoring, in its little snuffling way. And crept down to the cargo bay to complete the ritual. It might be stupid but he’d come this far, he might as well do it right.

They hadn’t left out any coin, or made pastries, or drunk spiced wine, but the lights had always been the most important part. And the story. And the kid deserved something special for his efforts.

There was little to choose from in terms of suitable gifts for a baby but he made do. Makeshift presents were in the spirit of the thing, and the kid’s needs were pretty simple. Safety, warmth, and comfort. He’d have probably liked a live frog or something, but he’d have to settle for what was available. Just as he’d had to settle for the Mandalorian as his protector. It would have to do.

* * *

The kid was stirring when he returned to the cockpit, climbing sleepily back into the Mandalorian’s arms.

“Hey kid, I have something for you,” he said, unravelling a bundle of fabric the height of the child and wrapping it around the creature’s shoulders, fastening it carefully beneath the boy’s chin.

The kid knew at once what it was, letting out a squeak of excitement and grasping the fabric in its little fists. The Mandalorian gave a soft laugh. It was only a scrap, really—the bottom part of his cloak, cut down to the baby’s size—but he guessed the child recognised it, or maybe the scent of it. He’d used it as a blanket enough times, or hidden beneath it when riding in his satchel, or, once, made it into the roof of a den, laid over two cargo crates. Regardless, the kid seemed happy with his mini cloak, and the Mandalorian’s chest ached in a pleasant kind of way.

And that would have been enough, but perhaps they really had conjured something out of glow sticks and a sleepless vigil. Because the cockpit began to shine once more—not with manufactured light, but with the golden halo of a rising sun, making its way over the curve of a nearby planet.

The child cooed, lifting one hand towards the light and the other up to his _buir_ ’s helmet. And the Mandalorian remembered the last time he’d stayed up with his parents, fighting the heaviness of his eyelids, determined to see out the night, nestled between his mother and father by the fire, she reading, he humming quietly, and just as he thought he couldn’t last any longer, a whisper in his ear—his mother’s gentle voice: “Look, there it is…”—and a golden glow, just like this, filling the sky with warmth and life. 

A brand new day, after the longest dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any typos - it's almost midnight on Christmas Eve and I decided I needed to post a festive one shot and then it turned angsty and, well, here it is. Happy Holidays all, and if you're feeling like you're in the midst of the longest dark right now, I hope you can find some light.


End file.
